Wednesday came sooner than I anticipated. The remainder of my night had been dreamless, but my muscles ached as if I had slept on stone. There was a faint taste of copper in my mouth. Yet, when I touched my tongue and looked at my hand, there was no blood on my fingers.

It wasn't all bad—if you took out feeling as if I had been beaten in my sleep—my morning started rather lovely.

The smell of bacon and eggs filled the apartment. I found Nathan cooking up a rather large breakfast. There was buttered toast, potato wedges, and sliced fruit. This was very out of the ordinary for Nathan—not only did he never cook, he never ate—but I couldn't complain. It was nice to share breakfast with the man I'd called my best friend for six years.

We ate, laughed about our old neighbors next door who argued about the missing stick of butter, and prepared for the day—though, I wasn't sure what to be prepared for.

Nathan told me to finish reading the journal, but I couldn't. Not after the searing migraine it had led me into the night before. Reading Charlotte's words only brought on memories I had nearly forgotten. If I were to meet this girl—whoever she was—I'd ask her to tell me the rest. No, I'd make her; make her tell me everything because I was sure there were more secrets than what was written in those pages.

Reading it myself or hearing it from her didn't make the slightest difference to Nathan. Either way I decided to go about it, he continued with his internet searches. He insisted that I should read it, but I was as stubborn as I was old, and after saying it twice, he gave up.

By the time 5:30 gleamed its numbers on my digital clock, Nathan had shut off his computer and made a home on the couch with Luther. As he flipped through the channels he never watched, I sat beside him in silence. "I told you to read it," he muttered as he eyed the time on the wall.

I was sure my nervousness was obvious. "You know, I never would have gotten the chance to read it if you had really tossed it."

"But you found it." Nathan looked at me out the corner of his eye.

I could punch him. "What happened to 'you fucked up,' hm?"

"Look," he dropped the tv remote on his lap, his fingers scratching at Luther's ears, "journal or not, you've got a date."

"It isn't a date," I grumbled as I leaned over the armrest of the couch, pulling my shoes across the rug to put them on.

"I'd call it a date with fate."

"Ah, right. Coming from the man who is without religion."

He watched me as I stood, adjusting my laces, and reached for the hoodie I had thrown on one of the kitchen chairs. I fastened a watch to my wrist, glancing down at the time. I could make it to the café in fifteen minutes.

"What do you know about religion?" Nathan asked, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "I've never once heard you talk about it."

I snorted, lifting my hood over my hair. I hadn't bothered to brush it. In truth, I needed to cut it.

"Hundreds of years ago religion was all you had. You were either religious or a witch. And if anyone other than my mother knew of my sensitive existence, I'd have been burned at the stake." I walked towards the door, scratching Luther's ear along the way. My hand settled on the doorknob. "If saying hail Mary and confessing to a priest my minor sins saved my eternal life, then I assure you, I was a religious man."

"Quote something." Nathan leaned over the back of the couch as I opened the door.

The wind swooped in, cold. So cold, poor Luther's ears pressed back on top of his head. I looked over at my cat and the stare of Nathan's anxious eyes. I smirked, "I walk through the valley of death, I will fear no evil—"

He snorted. "That one doesn't count. Everyone knows that one."

Ah, he was right.

"Oh? Well," I cleared my throat, "I chose you. I appointed you. I set you where you are."

He blinked. "What the fuck? What is that supposed to mean?"

I laughed. "John 15:16. Well, a rough rendition of it. My rendition."

Nathan sat back on the couch, breathing out a hard breath. With the way his shoulders slumped, I'd won, and I smiled at my victory. "Won't you come to be my moral support?" I asked.

"If you don't call in an hour, I'll sound the alarms," he murmured as Luther nestled himself on his lap.

"Reasonable enough," I said as I shifted my hoodie and readied myself to finally step out the door. But his next words stopped me and left me grinning at the top step.

"And if you have to kill her, I'll bring the bags."

"Good o' Nate." I chuckled and shut the door.

 **

I stopped a good few feet from the café, staring into its large windows and bright lights. The outside was always interesting to look at, like a memory forever frozen in this town. Whoever bought it and refurbished it into what it is now never bothered to change the exterior 'diner' look. The neon blue sign on the window welcomed me more than the thought of meeting this mysterious child. Its light flashed 'We're Open,' as I walked forward.

I dug my hands into my pockets. "She'd better be here," I said as I pulled the door open and stepped inside the heated interior.

Despite the blue in its name, inside of the café was everything but that. I was greeted by the reds that covered the tables and the whites that painted the wall. I smirked at my favorite barista as she smiled at me with pale, pink lips. Her green eyes seemed to devour me, and I moved my foot to walk to her, but she stopped me with a wave of her finger.

"No," she mouthed as she shifted her blonde hair away from her face and behind her ear. With that same finger, she pointed towards the far end of the café. Next to the window, in the largest booth, sat a teen girl dressed in bright pink and oversized headphones. I nodded my head in her direction as she hadn't seen me.

Ignoring Star's initial no, I approached, anyway. "How long has she been here?"

Star leaned against the counter and spoke in a tone only I would hear. "Half an hour tops. Where do you know her from?"

I looked back at the girl. Her fingers and their chipped nail polish turned through the pages of a teen magazine. Her eyes scanned through articles, her head bobbing to silent music. Her hair was red and curly, just as Nathan described. I narrowed my gaze—how could a girl so young know who I am?

"I don't know her." I slid my hands through my dark hair.

"Well," Star stood up and poured me a coffee without my asking, "she seems to know you."

"What did she say?"

"For starters," Star placed two donuts on a plate, separating them with a napkin, "she asked if Monty came here. I said I didn't know anyone named Monty, and she acted like I was dumb, and said 'Lamont.'" Star cocked a brow as she over-emphasized every letter of my name.

I cringed.

She continued, "So, I told her maybe I knew who you were, and she just sat down. And that's it."

"I see." I looked down at the two donuts. "She didn't order anything?"

"She did." Star pointed at the donut covered in chocolate and white sprinkles. "She said when you came in, that's what she wanted."

"I see," I repeated as I looked back at the girl. Not once had she looked up. I was offended, in a way. Those who knew me were drawn to my presence. To her, I was just an average man.

"Do you need anything else?" Star asked as I started towards the booth with my coffee and donuts in hand.

I nodded without looking back, "Yeah. Whiskey." I needed a drink.

Even as I stood beside the booth, she didn't look up. I eyed her, her clothes, her demeanor. I would guess her age at sixteen, at most. A sixteen-year-old wandering around a town she didn't live in—I knew almost everyone in town by face or name. And she hadn't newly moved in—gossip traveled fast. Slightly annoyed, partly amused, I dropped the plate in front of her and grinned at the yelp that left her as she jumped. I sipped my coffee as her bright, blue eyes met my own.

"Evening," I said into my cup.

Immediately, as though she hadn't ignored me when I entered the café, she smiled from ear to ear. "Monty!" she beamed.

I flinched and shook my head. "Before this continues, I'll have to ask you not to call me that."

Her smiled didn't budge. "Fair enough."

She waved her hand in front of her with a maturity greater than she just expressed. I nodded, curiosity taking over my initial thoughts throughout the day. I couldn't grab her by the collar of her shirt and demand that she told me where Charlotte was. Not only would that have been rude, considering her age, but it was also illegal.

Instead, I accepted the gesture and sat opposite her. With my free hand, I motioned to the donuts. "Star said you wanted that particular one. Did you?"

"Star?" The girl grabbed the donut and looked over at the counter as Star hid my bottle of whiskey. "That's what she said her name was? Weird."

She took a bite of her donut. A slow bite at first, but the next two followed quickly. I cleared my throat as I placed my coffee in front of me. "Speaking of names, what's yours?"

She looked at me with those bright, blue eyes and I felt my stomach flip. There was something oddly familiar about her, about the way her top lip dipped into her teeth as she slumped back in her chair. I didn't know a soul with hair as red as hers, or freckles, like the ones that settled on the bridge of her nose.

She's a young girl who knows too much, and that's all that matters.

"You don't know my name?" she sighed as her donut returned to the plate we shared.

"Sadly, I don't. Sorry." The strong smell of alcohol hit my senses as Star placed my drink in front of me. Ah, perfect timing. I shot her a smile that reminded her that I loved her.

"Do you want to order anything?" Star looked at the girl, a notepad in her hand, "I mean, you can't just eat a donut. Unless you want to."

Her eyes darted from the barista, to my whiskey, and then to me. They settled in a relentless gaze. "I'll have what he's having."

"Ha, right." Star tucked her notepad into the back pocket of her blue jeans. "Not without an I.D, kid."

"Why not bring her a coffee, love?" I said to Star as I gently rubbed her wrist.

"Coffee?" The girl sat up straight, hands folded in front of her.

"Right," I said as I sucked my teeth, "you wanted to talk to me. What better way than over coffee?"

"I guess." She looked at Star as the notepad returned to her hand, followed by a red pen topped with small feathers—those feathers moved as she breathed and mouthed 'well?' "I'll take my coffee black, please," the girl said.

"Black?" Star and I spoke in unison, but Star continued alone, "No cream? No nothing?"

She shook her head, her curls bobbing against her cheek. "No. Just black. I like it that way. It's like a swift kick in the ass."

A dull ache formed at the very bottom of my skull. I popped my neck, side to side, as I looked at the girl. Why did I feel like I remembered someone saying that?

"Black it is then," I muttered as Star turned away. I heard her say 'Righto,' as she walked around the front counter, but my gaze never left that of the teen's. We stared at each other for a minute or so before I lifted my whiskey and downed it in one swoop. The ache disappeared as though it never formed.

"Shall we begin?" There was a reason why we sat at the booth, and I needed to get to the point. Nathan gave me an hour.

"Not without my coffee." Her arms folded in front of her chest as determination settled on her face.

I sighed. "Well, at least tell me your name."

"Ugh, I can't believe you don't know it." She looked away, looking out the window and the sun that faded out into the horizon.

I wish I had another glass. I stared down into its emptiness and rather than ask Star for another, I settled on tracing my finger around the top of it. "Sorry, love, I don't know who you are. Or, why you're here. But—" I pushed the glass away and leaned close against the table that separated us. I could tell by the fear that settled in her eyes that she knew me, "—you've brought something very important to me. You know things that I've easily killed for."

Nervously, she swallowed, and just like that—like the angel she was—Star swooped in with the dark roasted, black coffee to save the girl. She placed the cup in between us and put her hand on my shoulder as she softly pushed me back into my seat. If the girl didn't know my rage, Star did. Not that I planned on harming her, but I learned long ago looks could be deceiving. And the way I handled those that deceived me was not, for the lack of a better word, good.

"I just thought you'd know it." The girl's voice was barely above a whisper.

I cupped Star's hand in my own before I smiled up at her. "It's all right, love," I said quietly. When she walked away and returned to her barista duties, I turned my gaze back upon the girl. "How would I know it?"

"The journal," she chipped away at the bits of nail polish that remained on her nails, "I gave it to your boyfriend for a reason."

"My what?"

Her head leaned forward as she peered at me with disbelieving eyes. "Uh, the guy you live with. The one with shaggy hair and a boyfriend shirt. I figured he just wore your clothes."

What could give someone that idea? "He isn't my boyfriend, he's my roommate and friend," I said through gritted teeth. "What was the reason for leaving it with me?"

"You'd know if you'd read the damn thing!" she hissed, spilling a bit of her coffee as she slammed her hands on the table. As though she feared what she would say next, she brought the cup to her lips and drank. Her face went sour.

"Let's say I didn't read it—"

"—You didn't."

"What harm would it be to tell me now? I'd find out either way."

For a second, I lost her. She looked out the window, holding her mug tight in her hands. I saw the thoughts as they that swam through her mind, all within the blue of her eyes. I could hear her heartbeat slow, her breathing shallow. I leaned in, chest hard against the table, and opened my mouth to say something—anything to break the tension that settled between us—but she spoke first. "Whatever I say now, without you reading that stuff—you wouldn't believe me." She looked at me as she sighed, and a weak smile lifted her lips. "I think you'd kill me."

I swallowed a ball of air. "I'd rather you not say things like that."

"It's true, isn't it? It's who you are."

My eye twitched. I looked over at Star, but she was oblivious to our conversation, sorting away through the old donuts and replacing them with those freshly baked. Knowing she couldn't hear me, I rubbed the side of my temple and said, "It's who I once was, yes, but those days are gone."

"Unless the situation arises," the girl leaned in and closed her eyes, "she always told me that."

My heart skipped a beat. "Charlotte?"

She nodded. "I think you should read it, and then we'll meet up again? How's that sound?" With steady hands, she ripped a page from her magazine. And from a bag I hadn't noticed, she pulled that same bright gel pen she'd marked the journal with. As soon as she started to write, I shook my head.

"No," I said, "if you know where she is, tell me. I couldn't care less who you are. If you know what's good for you, you'd tell me."

The last time I'd seen a woman cry so fast at my words was the last argument I had with Charlotte. She'd been angry because I was out drinking at odd hours of the night; I'd argued that I did it for her own good.

As though the shadowed déjà vu draped over us in the silence that followed, the girl's tear-filled eyes mimicked the same gaze Charlotte had given me that night. Her next words were so similar, and for a second, I thought it was her speaking. "How do you know what's good for me? You don't even know who I am..."